


Lifelines

by Macx



Series: Gray Areas [24]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6363517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel vs Hellbeast. Angel loses...<br/>And Crowley is there to protect his injured angel.</p><p> </p><p>Not a new fic, but it somehow never got posted in this series! So sorry!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lifelines

White feathers.

They lay on the ground. A breeze tugged a little at the more downy ones and they tumbled over the desert expanse, disappearing in the glare of the midday sun.

It was a lonely, lonely place out here.

Forsaken, forgotten, and humanity tried not to wander through here.

Wise move. Very wise move.

It was a cursed land in their minds; maybe it was in reality.

One of the white feathers got stuck in a scraggly bush and fluttered helplessly, the wind tugging and pushing, but it was lodged.

The battle had been over faster than he had expected, out here, where no one had seen it but a few insects and a snake.

Still, it had taken too long.

White feathers stained with dirt lay in a pool of drying blood not far away from the bush. They twitched in the wind as if they were alive.

It was a lot of blood. It held them tightly.

The battle had been fierce, for survival, to the death. The ground had been disturbed, the air heated up. It smelled like after a thunderstorm. Electricity filled the air.

It wasn't real electricity.

It was left-over magic.

Wings, broken and torn and slashed and bleeding covered a good patch of ground. They didn't move.

He had watched from afar, drawn to the outpouring of divine magic and hellish energy. He had stood by as blows had been traded, as claws had torn into flesh, had elicited cries of pain. He had listened to the cries, untouched until a soul-deep outcry had touched just that… his soul. It had reverberated inside him, had made something twitch and keen softly.

Outstretched in the sand, dust and debris clinging to the dark red fluid oozing from so many wounds, the wings were far from their pristine beauty. There was no strength left in them, no grace. They were limp and ravaged.

He had witnessed the rapid descent, the fall of the angel, had winced when he had crashed into the unforgiving ground. Dust had risen. Claws had slashed at the defenceless being, a bellow of triumph had filled the air, and he had unconsciously stepped forward before the massive paws could strike again.

Yellow eyes, serpentine and inhuman, had pinned red ones.

There had been a growl, then a yowl of fright, then a whine as the hell beast had crawled away.

A demon higher than itself had claimed its prey. It was stupid, but not stupid enough to fight a demon over an angel.

So now he stood here, looking at the broken angel, at the blood pooling on the ground, the signs of poisoning from terrible jaws and talons, and something inside him twisted sharply.

Crowley had known Aziraphale ever since his Fall - even before that, actually. He had met the former Angel of the Eastern Gate several times in the last millennia, and their relationship had taken strange twists and turns. Sure, they were Enemies, but Aziraphale hated to battle, though he did when need arose. They had actually clashed quite often until lately. Things had mellowed, they had accepted that there was no getting rid of the other aside from drastic measures, and now when they met it was on neutral ground – almost friendly terms.

Crowley gazed at the motionless form, wondering if the healing powers of the celestial being could actually counteract the poisoning.

It hadn't been his idea to target the angel, to get him torn to shreds. It was probably not even a hit from Hell. They rarely tried to take out lower angels. Most likely a human had called the beast and Aziraphale had seen it as his duty to banish it.

Blessed do-gooder. He just couldn't keep his fingers off such dangerous things.

Crowley sighed.

Well, he had lost.

The beast had been as dumb as any of its kind, but it had been rather strong. From the feel of it, the demon suspected that the human who had called it, had also fed it with whatever this one had required. Rabbits, cows, camels, horses… whatever they could find. But no fowl. Hell beasts despised food with feathers. The whole 'virginal blood and sacrifices' myth was just that. A myth. No hell beast would ever eat a human to gain strength. That was utter crap. Humans were as tasteless as… well… the white gooey stuff they fed at the poor houses. And a lot less nourishing.

Crowley shuffled a little in the sand, the sun beating down on him.

Aziraphale didn't move.

What now? He had thwarted a hell beast. Great. His boss would be so proud – not!

Why? What did he have to gain from saving an angel?

Whoa, stop right there! He wasn't saving anyone! He had just… just… well, thwarted a hell beast, sure. He had… chased it away to… do what? Take him out himself? Give Aziraphale the killing blow.

Crowley gazed at the sharp claws that had emerged on his fingers.

He gritted his teeth.

Shit.

Willing them away, he took a deep breath. No, he wouldn't kill the angel. He had never taken an angel's life and he wouldn't start with this one. He couldn't kill Aziraphale. It would be… wrong.

But wrong was right in a demon's dictionary. Demons killed angels if they could.

Cursing softly, he turned and began to walk away. He didn't get far. Crowley stopped after taking two steps from the motionless form.

He couldn't let Aziraphale lay here. Just like that. Unprotected. Maybe dying.

No, no, no. The angel wasn't dying. Angels were tougher than that. He could snap out of this, no sweat. He just had to get the healing powers going, right? For all his mild-manners and easy smile, he was a tough critter.

Crowley remembered sharing a tea with the angel back when… yeah, well a while ago. Just tea. In a shabby little tea house, just them and a bunch of locals who didn't really see them as what they were. Humans tended to ignore what they couldn't explain. It was that easy. Crowley had had a really nice day that day. Really nice. They had talked. About this and that, about their lives, about… everything. And they had done it again, met up for tea or lunch or dinner, or just like that.

It had been… good.

He banished the thoughts and took another step, but a soft moan floating towards him stopped the demon.

Serpentine eyes snapped around and looked at the limp form. Blood was still leaking slowly, pale fingers twitching a little. The wings were ruffled by the breeze, a few of the white feathers blowing away. He watched them tumble over the ground, hypnotized by their beauty even while stained and torn.

And before he knew it he as at the angel's side, kneeling in the hot sand, his fingers brushing over the dark blond hair. Despite the blood staining the strands, it felt soft and silky and Crowley had to bite his lip to keep himself from doing something he might regret.

Aziraphale whimpered ever-so-softly.

That sound alone pulled him out of his state of un-demonic longing.

The injuries were bad, he thought with a curl of dismay that was rather un-demonic, too. The poison was raging through Aziraphale's system and was destroying it faster than the angel could heal himself. The amounts were copious. There was also a long and deep wound to the right thigh, countless scratches, and deep claw marks on the back where the hell beast had tried to rip out the angel's wings. The wings as such were broken, slashed, torn… violated.

Crowley's wings ached in sympathy. This was very, very painful. Aziraphale could be glad he was unconscious.

He needed help.

Crowley clenched his jaw.

There were no other angels around, so finding that kind of help was… well… impossible. It wasn't like a prayer would reach anyone either and he was as far from praying to Him as he was from killing the angel at his mercy.

Demons could heal.

Crowley froze at that thought and pulled his hand away. He sat down heavily in the sand and gazed at the now once again motionless angel.

Yes, demons could heal. Themselves, mostly, though not as perfectly as angels when wounded by such a celestial being. Demons needed a bit more time and energy for that. It was probably part of the fallen thing. Anything else, like human inflicted wounds or other demons trying to take the opponent out, that was easy.

Crowley's eyes were glued to the angel.

Pale features, now speckled with blood… Aziraphale looked angelic if he wanted to, and very, very ordinary if he wanted that, too. His hair was rather short nowadays, but Crowley liked it. He remembered Aziraphale complaining about the fashionably long hair of angels, especially the higher ones. It got in the way, he had told Crowley. It was usually a mess and a lot of trouble to take care of. He had simply bound it back for a while, but even that had been a nuisance, so he had cut it off.

Crowley had secretly been amused at that. He had never been a stickler for fashion, independent demon that he was and all. He had teased Aziraphale with long hair and fashion remarks for a long time after that. While the angel had been miffed, the amused glint in the blue eyes had been tell-tale enough.

It had been fun.

His thoughts screeched to a halt.

Shit.

Through the torn clothes he saw the terrible wounds and one hand strayed toward the deep cut along the thigh under its own volition. His energy gathered just like that, touching the horrible mark upon the celestial flesh, and suddenly Aziraphale groaned, wings beating ever-so faintly.

Demonic healing clashed with angelic forms.

Demons weren't meant to heal anyone aside from themselves. Especially angels.

But it worked. The wound looked a bit better and had stopped bleeding. He could help the angel. He really could.

But why should he?

Crowley hissed softly, hands clenching.

Why should he heal the Enemy?

Because Aziraphale was… had been… nice to him... despite being an angel. He liked the angel.

The thought made him sick.

He liked an angel?

Something churned deep inside and he screwed his eyes shut.

Yes, he did. Bless it all to He… Below. He liked the do-gooder. Not just drinking tea with him, but actually talking to him. The last century or so had been quite nice. He wanted more of that, more nice times with Aziraphale, more of Aziraphale. He liked the angel and it hurt to see him broken and violated like that. It called to something deep inside that might be his soul to change this.

Crowley buried his head in his hands.

Shit, shit, shit!

Faint movement alerted him and he looked up. There was a scavenger nearby and the sight of the stupid creature made Crowley hiss in anger. Black wings snapped open with a loud noise and he erupted from his sitting position, snarling.

The creature whimpered and darted away, scared out of its useless pelt.

How dare that thing try and take a piece of the angel!

He had to get him away from here. Protect him.

Crowley didn't even stop to think what 'protect' meant. Or that demons usually didn't think about something like that. Or that it involved the Enemy.

Carrying a being with large wings, even if they were slashed and torn, was no small feat. Crowley had opted for flying to the only place he could think of, and it was a haphazard flight at best. He nearly crashed them once or twice, and the landing was far from graceful. The sun was already setting as he stumbled with his precious burden toward the mouth of the little cave. It wasn't a very deep one, but it was cool and dry and clean.

Placing Aziraphale on the sand, on his side, he contemplated what to do. He had to take care of the wings first, which would be extremely painful, and then go for the rest, which would be just as agonizing. The flight muscles were a bloody mess.

"Aziraphale?" he asked softly.

There was no answer. The angel was out like a light.

That wouldn't hold for much longer. The moment he started, it would wake him.

And it did.

Crowley knew he would never forget the screams. Aziraphale's blue eyes were wide open, his face distorted in agony, the body arching away from his touch. When he finally screwed those sky blues shut, tears leaked out. The angel tried to curl up, tried to protect himself from more pain, tried to fight him off, his wings flapping brokenly.

Crowley held on, let the healing powers he possessed flow into the celestial being. Somehow Aziraphale ended up curled around his lap, clinging to him, crying openly with the agony he was made to suffer. The demon had never seen an angel cry, and seeing this one do it so openly… it broke something inside him.

Demons tortured angels. Crowley had never been so horrified by what he did to this one. It was torture… to heal him.

He started to whisper to him, encourage him, calm him, reassure him. Feverish eyes were on his face, his lips, and the pale fingers dug like claws into his flesh. Aziraphale whimpered words the demon didn't understand, but he smiled, cooed, soothed, stroked over the feverish brow. Crowley kept up the litany of words, nonsensical words, and shaped the wings back to their original beauty, then did the other wounds.

Finally Aziraphale lay limp, breathing spasmodically, almost hyperventilating, and Crowley found himself caressing the messy hair, still talking softly to him.

The blue eyes cracked open and Crowley could tell the moment Aziraphale consciously picked up on the fact that he was so close to a demon. He made a choked noise of almost-fright, trying to move away, but the moment he moved his just healed wings, he gasped in pain.

"Shhh," Crowley murmured. "It's okay. You're safe. I'm not here to do anything to you. You're safe. No one will harm you. No one."

Aziraphale began to tremble with exhaustion, pain and probably fear, but Crowley simply continued his caresses. He liked the feeling. He liked it a lot. Having Aziraphale so close, touching him, needing him, clinging to him… he felt something warm blossom, then quickly hide. It was a great sensation, but also… not very demonic.

A lot of things in the last hours hadn't been. Maybe even in the last… centuries?

Why had he done this? Crowley thought, fingers still carding into the limp hair of his supposed Enemy. He should have killed the angel. It would have gained him some bonus points. Instead he had… helped.

Sitting back, drawing a faint protest from the angel, he sighed.

Outside, it had grown dark.

The stars were out, the sky clear and dark and very, very nice to look at.

Crowley had no eyes for it. He gazed at the being partially in his arms. Angelic healing was running its course now that Crowley had given it a jump-start. Aziraphale just needed time. The poison wasn't all expelled just yet.

 

 

Throughout the next hour, the angel shivered uncontrollably.

Crowley did the only thing he could think of. He pulled the limp form to him, wrapping his wings around the celestial being. Aziraphale moaned softly and curled up. The demon sighed and stroked over the damp hair, carding his fingers into the silky strands. It had become an addiction, feeling the softness against his fingers. It calmed him somewhat.

"Hope no one ever sees me like this," Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale coughed a little, sounding raw and painful. Crowley winced, noticing that the shivers didn’t die down. He began to emanate heat until the angel quieted and finally slipped into sleep.

 

*

 

Crowley wasn't there when the angel woke. He hadn't slept at all that night, had sat guard over the healing divine being, and when it was clear that Aziraphale would really pull through, he had slipped out of the cave.

It felt like leaving something important behind.

 

*

 

They met a few days later, just by accident. Aziraphale looked whole and healthy again, and Crowley had soaked up the sight of it. It had been that week that the Arrangement had been born. Aziraphale had no memory of who had saved him, but sometimes he would look strangely at him. Crowley would brush it all off, would refuse to acknowledge the fact that he had saved this one.

 

 

Today, such a long time later, he would acknowledge everything there was concerning his angel. Aziraphale looked at him with calm blue eyes, a smile on his lips.

"So it was you," he said softly.

Crowley was close to shuffling with embarrassment. He didn't know when they had started talking about that, but they had, and he had finally told his angel the truth.

"Yeah. So?"

Aziraphale leaned closer and kissed him, their lips meeting in an almost chaste contact. "Thank you, my dear."

He swallowed, more embarrassment rising.

"You saved my life."

"I… yeah…"

The angel leaned even closer, their bodies meeting full length, with Crowley pressed against the kitchen counter.

"I never knew. I don't remember everything. Just the fight, the pain, and then something like a dream. I woke up, healed, and recovering, and I didn't know how it had happened."

Crowley wrapped his arms around the slender form and held on, burying his face against Aziraphale's shoulder. Gentle fingers threaded through his hair.

"I'm in your debt, my dear."

"No," he breathed. "Never. I'm glad I did it. Today I'm more than glad."

Because saving Aziraphale had gained him the Arrangement and finally his angel. It had taken him more than a millennium, but today he had what he had secretly craved without knowing it back then.

Seeking the angel's lips, he breathed a kiss onto them, delighted when Aziraphale opened up under his questioning contact, letting him in. He kissed the familiar mouth, met the eager tongue, reveling in the feeling of holding this being, so alive and healthy and warm.

"Feel like going out?" Aziraphale asked.

He traced the lines of his angel's face with his fingers, that unexplainable thrill racing through him at the contact, the smooth skin under his finger tips, the radiant warmth that was Aziraphale.

"Where to?"

"There's this new Italian place down on Liberty. I wanted to give it a try."

Crowley smiled. "I'd love to."

Aziraphale mirrored the smile, one hand gently rubbing over his side. "Let's go," he only said.

They did, taking the Bentley, disregarding all kinds of traffic laws.

It had paid to be the savior of an angel, Crowley mused as he ran a red light. It had paid.


End file.
